The Bear and Barnacle

Sherlock Holmes sat up and blinked in surprise. Why on earth was he on the floor? He looked around. He was in the basement laboratory, right where he should be. He frowned. Something had happened, but what? ( Read more... )

He sees it the second he kicks the door shut behind himself.

He doesn't mind; his belongings are few, and if there was any disarray before, if there is cleanliness now, then the difference is fractal.

Which doesn't mean that he doesn't draw, the second he kicks the door shut.

The Joker groaned, blinking at the rising sunlight that was peeking through the blinds. He hated mornings. Even ones that followed good evenings.
( Would you want to irritate him? )

Lucius stretched idly, the book he had fallen asleep reading falling from his lap. He had been falling asleep in his private study more often of late, in the large leather armchair located closest to the fireplace. He blinked in the dark of the pre-dawn, and reached for his wand, which always rested on the lamp-table to the right of the chair. However, now his hand was grasping nothing but air. His wand was not there. Neither was the table. He jumped up fully awake and alert, letting his eyes adjust to the weak light.

“What in the BLOODY hell is going on here??”

( Violation )

It's too cold.

Blaise grunts and digs deeper into his furs after poking a probing toe out past the edge of the bed. Morning, probably; he can't tell without looking at the LEDs, what with the windows still spraypainted black. He should add some insulation. Industrial foam, something like that. Man oh man, is it cold or what.

He refuses to leave on the read-outs over night, stress on the contacts be damned, "for, my sweet flashy friend," as he's always telling Draco, "there's vital technology, and then there are gadgets."

The computers wake up before him, as always, and as always Blaise is tempted to throw a bottle into the whole bleeping pile. He longs to be back in Haiti, if only to be able to wake up and not hunch, not shrink back into his skin, and he mouths a few sullen warming charms, heaping them on until he feels it's safe. Another grunted command and the lights come on - gentle, friendly lights, not the glare of gas, and that's when he sees it.

His loft is a mess. Merde. Well, a mess in reverse.

The stalagmites of multicoloured wax - gone. The knotted chimes of bones and shards, lovingly assembled and acquired via buckets of fried chicken, as well as much throwing of things at Draco's retreating back - gone. Not a single feather on the ground where he twisted and slit the last cockerel's neck only yesterday - all his signs of devotion gone, all the talismans, jujus, artefacts, stains and souvenirs, together with the scrap metal he'd shaped into something quite artsy. Gone.

Blaise's head whips around. His sensors snap on, scanning the area for intrusion, for any attempts at breaking and entering sneaky or crude enough to outmanoeuver his security. Unlikely as that is.

"Draco!" he yells. His voice soars, then dips and dives. "Draacooo!"

Not a sound beyond the familiar whisper of contacts. "Draco!?"

Putain.

Coffee. Definitely coffee. Which requires going to the kitchen- He still hasn't quite given in to the urge to have a coffee pot in the bedroom.

Zelgadis rolls over in bed, carefully extracting himself from the sleeping form previously half on top of him. He sits up and looks around for the soft ivory trousers he wears and, finding them folded on the dresser, pulls them carefully on over the irregular grey pebbles marring his blue stone skin. Then he pulls on a grey shirt laying next to it. He's long since lost the habit of running a hand over his hair after dressing- nothing's going to move the wires.

( Morning brew-ha-ha. )

You come home and you find that your house is clean. Utterly clean. 1950s-advert-housewife-on-speed clean. No white-gloved mother-in-law could find anything on your top shelf to frown about.

If you had a system of organization, it has been completely redone. If you didn't, now you do. If you have houseplants, they have been watered, misted and pruned. If you have pets, they are fluffy and freshly bathed, and if their fur is long enough, it has been daintily trimmed. If you had laundry to do, it is complete and the clothes are pressed, folded and smell faintly of pleasant herbs. If your closet was sorted by season, it is now ordered by color. If it was ordered by color, it is now sorted by season. Your bed has hospital corners. Your kitchen sparkles.

In short, your house is as clean and neat as a catalogue display. You didn't do it. And you are pretty damn sure that you left it locked.

Welcome to our second event, and the beginning of the oddities of colliding universes! For this one, you will make a post to the community detailing your character's reaction. Have fun!